


Talking Dirty

by Toft



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-27
Updated: 2006-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toft/pseuds/Toft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a major obstacle to successful porn dialogue that there are so few attractive words to describe anything to do with sex.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for isiscolo and mecurtin.

  
“Believe me, after twenty three months of nothing, any porn is good porn.”

John sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position. The stone floor was cold and hard, but he’d been pacing for about three hours already. On the other side of the wall, he could hear Rodney shuffling.

“Actually, I take that back,” Rodney said, his voice drifting through the grille high above John’s head. “Terrible porn can make things worse. I was dating this girl at graduate school who had a thing about stuffed animals, and one day I rented this video by mistake, and after that I could never have sex in her room again. They just kept staring at me.”

“Shouldn’t have watched it all the way through,” John said up at the ceiling, pillowing his head on his arms.

“I’m a scientist, curiosity is what I do,” Rodney said. “It was fascinating, in a horrible kind of way. How was I supposed to know it would scar me for life?”

John didn’t know how they’d got onto the unavailability of porn in the Pegasus galaxy, but after a game of Animal-Vegetable-Mineral-or-Abstract-Concepts that had dragged on for over an hour, he was kind of glad of a change. It didn’t look like their captors were going to be letting them out anytime soon.

“You know what else is a total turn-off?” Rodney said meditatively. “Really, really bad dialogue. Although, that covers pretty much all porn made ever. I usually just keep the sound off, but then you miss out on the noises they make.”

John winced. “Rodney…”

“Oh, come on,” Rodney snapped, and John could practically feel the increase in heat coming through the wall as Rodney blushed. He always blushed when the conversation ever got onto sex. “Don’t pretend that stuff doesn’t turn you on.”

John tried to think of a non-committal response to that, but luckily most of Rodney’s questions turned out to be hypothetical, and this was no exception.

“And anyway, silent porn seems really unnatural. I mean, obviously, suppressing your gag reflex isn’t exactly natural, not to mention size issues, but watching people go at it with no noise whatsoever – well, it’s just weird. I’m a very aural person.”

“No kidding, McKay,” John croaked, feeling a little like this conversation had gone into a tailspin.

“A-U-R, idiot, although that reminds me of a joke that my science teacher at high school once -”

“You want to play Animal-Mineral-or-Vegetable again?” John attempted desperately. “We can allow imaginary numbers.”

“Yeah, right, you’d guess it right away, now,” Rodney muttered, and there was sweet, sweet silence for a few seconds, but it had been a pretty damn long time for John too, and now he was _thinking_ about it, and the skin under the waistband of his pants itched, suddenly, but McKay was right over the other side of the wall and would hear him if he tried to scratch it, might think he was – he was –

There was a rustle and a muffled groan from the other cell, and John tensed up all over.

“Did you ever see that _Friends_ episode where the annoying palaeontologist tries to talk dirty to his girlfriend?” Rodney continued abruptly, his voice echoing differently through the grille. John listened hard for any more noise, just wanting to reassure himself that Rodney wasn’t doing what John was sure he wasn’t doing and wouldn’t want to know if he was anyway, then jumped when Rodney knocked on the wall directly by his head.

“Hey, Sheppard! Don’t go to sleep on me!”

And that really put John’s imagination in a place it didn’t want to be. Rodney must be lying down right next to him, he realized. Laughter was coming through the grille now, and John made an effort to remember what Rodney had just said. Unfortunately, what he came up with was ‘vulva’.

“What did you say?”

“ _Vulva_. I mean, seriously, can you think of a word more likely to cause equipment failure?”

Well, at least John wasn’t going completely crazy. He shifted restlessly. The cell didn’t seem all that cold anymore, but he was sure he had to be imagining the heat radiating from McKay’s side of the wall. He muttered, “Leprosy?” but Rodney kept talking right over him.

“It’s a major obstacle to successful porn dialogue that there are so few attractive words to describe anything to do with sex.”

“You’d think somebody would have done something about that,” John managed, and he heard a rustle again – maybe Rodney nodding.

“I mean, ‘vulva’, obviously. And ‘vagina’ is pretty ugly. ‘Clitoris’ is okay, I suppose. ‘Penis’ is pretty horrible. ‘Foreskin’ doesn’t even bear mentioning.”

John stared at the ceiling and wondered how this had become his life. Rodney continued blithely, “I think colloquialisms are the way to go. I mean, ‘cock’ is a perfectly good word, right? Do you like ‘cock’?”

For the last few hours, John had been fighting the urge to turn his head every five seconds to look at Rodney, because words came out of McKay’s mouth all the time, but he did most of his talking with his hands and eyes, and John had gotten used to watching him. Now, John was really, really glad he couldn’t see Rodney’s face. And that Rodney couldn’t see his. He dug his nails into his palms and tried to keep his voice light, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, _does he could he he can’t_ -

“Never thought about it.”.

“Well, think about it now,” Rodney said. He sounded irritated. John was finding it hard to breathe.

“It’s okay,” he muttered at last.

“Then there’s ‘dick’,” Rodney said, and John let his lungful of air out too loudly, “But that just makes me think of Dick Grayson. Did you see _Batman and Robin_? That was probably the worst movie I’ve ever seen.”

“It was okay,” John said automatically, but he was thinking of the guy who’d played Robin in that movie, close-cropped brown hair, wide mouth, broad shoulders, blue eyes. His chest was starting to hurt from keeping his breathing regular. He could hear Rodney shifting around again.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Rodney spluttered, “You’re – I’ve seen _porn_ with better dialogue!”

“Got kind of a one-track mind, haven’t you, Rodney?” John said, and, daring all at once, slipped his hand under his waistband to scratch the itch on his hip. His fingers were cold, so he kept them there to warm them, lying still against his bare skin.

“Oh, like you’re complaining when it’s saving your ass,” Rodney snapped. He shuffled again, and John heard the slide of a zipper. He froze again, suddenly aware that his hand was halfway into his pants, but not daring to tug it out.

“I admit that on the rare occasions when I’ve been asked to talk dirty to a sexual partner, it’s just been embarrassing. There’s just something about trying to say – to say - see, I can’t even say it now. It’s ridiculous. I mean, as I was saying before you so transparently tried to sidetrack the conversation, porn doesn’t exactly set a good example. If anyone ever said ‘put it in me, big boy,’ to me, I’d just kill the mood by laughing or something inappropriate like that.”

McKay was babbling. He babbled when he was embarrassed or nervous. John wondered if he was hard. If it had been that long for him, maybe this conversation was – well, he clearly had it on his mind. His fingers were warm, now. He slid them down a little further, and scraped his fingernails through the wiry hair trailing downwards.

“You, ah, still awake?”

John debated staying quiet, but then Rodney might think he really _was_ asleep and might try to, to deal with whatever problem he had, and John would have to lie there and stay still and _listen_ -

“Yeah.”

He flipped the top button on his combats to give himself room to slide his hand a little further. He brushed the side of his cock with the tip of his finger, and shivered, breathing open-mouthed and silent.

“Maybe it’s narcissism talking, but I always found people saying my name in bed quite sexy. At least you know they’re thinking of you, right?”

Rodney laughed nervously, breathlessly. John inched a finger along the crease of his inner thigh, teasing himself, hypersensitive to the tiniest noise, while heat wound tighter and tighter in his stomach with every brush of his fingers against his thigh or the base of his cock.

“But – but I find that simple and direct works best, don’t you? I mean, ‘fuck me’ always seems to get results.”

John curled his fingers convulsively and shuddered. In the next cell, Rodney had stopped shifting around.

“John,” Rodney said, rough and shockingly intimate, like a kiss on the ear, and, god, he was _right next to_ John, and maybe he had his hand on his dick too, he sounded like maybe he did –

“Yeah?”

John heard Rodney take a deep, shuddering breath, then another.

“God,” he said.

John said, “Rodney,” and couldn’t help it coming out hoarse.

“John,” Rodney said again, and this time John could hear him, soft, rhythmic brushes of skin against cloth, and holy fuck, he _was_ , which was wrong in so many ways, but it meant John could, too. “I want to – is this -”

“Yeah,” John managed, through the tightness in his chest and the spiking heat in his stomach. “It’s okay.”

“Oh, that’s, are you sure?” Rodney said, voice high, but John could already hear him fumbling with his pants, so he unzipped his fly very, very slowly, clicking past one tooth at a time, so he could finally push his hand down fully into his boxers and wrap his hand around his cock. He was so sensitized that it was almost too much, and he gulped for air, letting his head fall back, and just kept still, acclimatizing himself to the touch, and listened to Rodney’s jerky movements, his stuttering breaths. John could almost see him, his face red, eyes wide and unseeing, or maybe screwed tightly shut, hand moving invisibly inside his pants – or maybe he had his pants open, had reached inside his boxers and spread his legs a little to fist around himself -

“Say something,” Rodney gasped.

John was caught off-guard, and groaned out loud on an up-stroke. He froze, but then Rodney made that hitching gasp again, and he stroked himself again, convulsively, and arched up into it, it was so good.

“Please, John, I want, just, say anything -”

“I -” John said, the pleading breathiness in Rodney’s voice kicking shivers up his spine, and, Jesus, he was already so fucking close, but then he had the awful urge to say –

“And if you say ‘vulva’, I will seriously kill you,” Rodney said breathlessly, and John couldn’t help dissolving into snorts of laughter.

“God, your laugh is so stupid,” Rodney moaned.

“Fuck you,” John said, pushing up into his hand, tighter, faster.

Rodney said, “Yeah – yeah, I’d like that -” and John twisted his hand on a downstroke and hissed through his teeth, let Rodney hear him, and was rewarded with another gasp.

“Come on, it’s not rocket science,” Rodney said, breathing hard, “simple and, and direct, oh, god, just say ‘fuck’ again, you’re so -”

“I want you -” John said, eyes shut, mind full of white, “I’ve wanted you -”

Rodney hissed out, “Ah – god, yes -” and John rolled over onto his side towards him, then shut his eyes tight so he couldn’t see the grey stone, could pretend he could see and feel and taste Rodney as he shuddered through it, coming with a series of wrenched-out gasps over on the other side of the wall. Then Rodney said his name, and John came in his own hand, curling into himself, and saw nothing at all.

“Sheppard,” Rodney was saying. “John. John.”

“Yeah, okay,” John said, and hurriedly tucked himself in and did up his flies. He hadn’t gotten any come on his pants, but his whole left leg was numb and tingling from where he’d been lying on it.

“Did you, ah, fall asleep too?”

“Seems like it.”

John hauled himself up to stamp the feeling back into his leg, and paced around for a while before Rodney spoke again, sounding further away, maybe over on the other side of his cell.

“What you said, when you, ah, that you – that you wanted me, were you just -”

He sounded flat and unhappy and careful, where he would have been pushy, six months ago, and presumptive, six months before that, and John was glad again that Rodney couldn’t see him, because it made it easier, somehow, for the words to come out.

“I’m not that creative, Rodney.”

“Look, I’m really not good at this decoding you thing,” Rodney said all in a rush, “I really – well, obviously, everybody does, I mean, look at you, but I really think we could be something, so will you just tell me yes or no, and then we can never speak of this again one way or the other, because obviously I shouldn’t be asking and you shouldn’t be telling, and if you’re going to turn me down then there’s nothing worse than -”

“Yes,” said John, a sound like rushing in his ears drowning out the rest of whatever Rodney said, or maybe he stopped talking. Then there was a clang and the scrape of a door, and someone shouting, “Colonel Sheppard? Dr McKay?” and it looked like their rescue party had arrived, right on time.

“We’re in here!” yelled John, then said, “See you on the other side, McKay.”

“Yeah,” said Rodney. “Yeah, see you,” and John knocked on the wall, just to hear Rodney knock back as they stood side by side, two feet apart, waiting for the doors to open.

  
End


End file.
